'BOREALIS RISING' - A Subnautica Story V2.0.



  • TenebrousNovaTenebrousNova England Join Date: 2015-12-23 Member: 210206Members Posts: 640 Advanced user
  • BugzapperBugzapper Australia Join Date: 2015-03-06 Member: 201744Members Posts: 1,054 Advanced user
    One final detail requires my immediate attention.

    As far as we can determine, Damocles won't be crumbling apart any time in the foreseeable future. The detonation shockwave propagated poorly in the planet's thin atmosphere, barely ruffling its dusty surface. Cutty Sark has completed its fourth and final orbit, and a fresh complement of recon probes have been deployed. Initial data indicates a successful EMP strike, although I won't be breaking out the bubbly just yet. There's still a cache of those wee horrors inside the Precursor containment facility, and I aim to put an end to them. That's one less thing to lose sleep over, even though those nanites are safely confined to a theoretically secure container.

    It's the 'theoretically secure' part that concerns me. I believe it's only a matter of time before someone conjures a way to crack open that Pandora's Box, and we're back to square one. I'd rather nip this situation in the bud.

    Like most bright ideas, inspiration came from a totally unexpected direction. I haven't spoken to Héloise for the best part of a fortnight, and she might have some choice words to say about that. Given her... delicate condition, it comes as no real surprise that a wee tinge of emotional colour has crept into some of our conversations. Nowadays, she has a fair temper about her, and that's something best addressed with frequent back-rubs, chocolate éclairs and a soothing tone of voice.

    However, I digress.

    As I mulled over an ever-increasing probability of Héloise decapitating me with her Guardian's Knot, my mind wandered back to an unfortunate incident aboard Aurora. Only three weeks out from Gateway Station, a newly-wed couple ran into a spot of bother. Harsh words were exchanged, certain persons were accused of monkey-shines with another monkey's monkey... You get the basic picture. Anyway, at a certain point in this howling mess, someone's PDA ended up in a microwave oven.

    One thousand Watts and one extremely messy punch-up later, there wasn't much point in retrieving their semi-precious wedding memories. Apparently, the honeymoon footage also included rather more participants than the other partner considered appropriate at the time.

    I reckon five kilowatts should do the job quite nicely. Those display cases are completely transparent to our scanner beams, so it's a safe bet that microwave radiation will pass through this material just as easily. All I need now is a couple of minutes and a Fabricator terminal.

    Disco Volante's headlights threw a shimmering silver tapestry upon the walls of the containment facility's moon pool. Barely audible over the gently lapping water below, I could hear the steady tic-tic-tic of Precursor drones scurrying to and fro in the central atrium. The maser cannon felt bulky and awkward in my hands, since most of its fifty-kilo mass is centred on a large shielded magnetron and a pair of ion power cells sitting atop a rudimentary pistol grip. Its muzzle is a basic assembly of three concentric aluminium tubes acting as waveguides. It's not the most elegant design I've ever concocted, although there's little doubt that it will function precisely as intended.

    If not, there's always Plan B... One of Doc Zelenka's 'fun-sized' boxes of boom. Yield: 0.001 kilotons.
    Normally used as a first stage fusion initiator in megaton-yield thermonuclear devices.

    She calls them 'kittens'.

    I depressed the weapon's firing stud. A deep, booming hum filled the echoing space around me. I swept its beam over the case methodically, top to bottom, then side to side. The hazy grey-green film in the sealed chamber suddenly sparks and flares like a bonsai fireworks display.

    The ultimate irony of Ultimate Weapons: They are invariably the last thing that a civilization creates.
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